


Pain In My Lovely Bottom

by MoonlightIcarus



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ass Play, Ass to Mouth, Beards (Facial Hair), Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Groping, Innuendo, Lube, M/M, Massage, Mutual Pining, Oil, Rimming, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightIcarus/pseuds/MoonlightIcarus
Summary: Geralt of Rivia has an issue, his arse hurts constantly. He is lucky enough to have a 'companion' who is willing to help him in his woes, but the Bard's incessant need to get his cock wet doesn't please Geralt's nerves when he is so vulnerable.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 133





	Pain In My Lovely Bottom

**Author's Note:**

> If you randomly stop reading this part of the way in please tell me why so I know what I'm doing wrong.

Geralt's arse was always sore, sore from riding Roach, doing manual labor, running at a breakneck pace, or just from sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair for hours on end while his latest client droned on and on about why he needed the witcher's services. 

Each night as he returned to his lodging he felt a painful ache there, and it was one of the reasons he was more than happy to get a room on the ground floor. Moving up the stairwell was a worse torture than what his enemies could ever impose on him.

He lived like that for years. Attempting to soothe the pain with warm baths or some form of relaxing oils, but his own hands often disappointed him when he tried to help himself. Once or twice he had broached the topic with one of his nightly lovers to see if they would help, and of course they left a resounding no in their wake as they stormed from his room with their clothes in their hands. 

It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed, watching them storm off, but he wouldn't ask it of them if he had another option. He knew spells and potions that could cure a thousand different illnesses, but none of them were made to tackle a sore bottom.

Then of course he found someone who agreed to help, and life made sure it was someone he had a history with. Jaskier had come in like the stray sheep no one wants. He jsut complained and made demands, yet Geralt somehow found himself developing an attachment to the other man. Jaskier was more open and easy going when it came to more personal topics, so one day Gerald had asked him for his aid.

Jaskier was exceedingly forward in his willingness to help Geralt with the issue. He had been wanting to get his hands on Geralt since the first moment he saw the man, and he was especially desperate to touch that lovely bottom of his. It was covered in needlessly tight black clothes that only accentuated and emphasized its perky nature. The fabric always clung so closely to his skin that he doubted if the other man ever wore small clothes. Obviosy when Geralt asked him about it he immediately accepted, and that night he found the witcher laying on his stomach, baked in bed, with enough space for him to stand by and do his work.

It was a total miracle that he managed to get his even halfway though the massage without coming in his pants, but for the full second half of it he was teetering on the edge. Just a single swipe at his cock through the fabric of his small clothes would have been enough to bring him to completion. Of course ehe couldn't do that. Somehow with all his magical wit her senses Geralt would know and then he would never get to so instantly touch that chi one arse ever again.

Thankfully his work was found to be satisfactory, so they made a plan of repeating the exchange, and they happened to repeat it every night. For all his hard training and experience Geralt had a surprisingly sensitive bottom.

....

Geralt was laying on top of his sheets, still naked after drying off from his bath for the night. His exposed body felt dangerously vulnerable even with the stone walls around him. It wasn't a feeling he liked, that physical weakness, but wearing clothes wasn't an option unless he wanted them to be ruined by the chamomile oil.

His legs were spread out slightly, with his knees bend inward. The position exposed his generously sized balls, but his cock remained hidden, wedged between his body and the fine sheets of the bed.

Jaskier was kneeling between his legs as he rubbed the camomile oil between his palms, and stared at the myriad of scars coloring that pale skin. It was redicouly expensive even on Geralt's finances, so he made sure the bard used it sparingly. The amount they spend on a single vial could have repaired a sword that was on the verge of breaking to pieces.

But that was the price of a rare good, that wasn't native to the region. Other oils and cures had been tested, but they never worked as well. The pain would hardly even lessen, or it would go away and return shortly thereafter. Geralt never returned to the merchants who sold the useless concoctions, his trust was not something to be abused or taken lightly.

Jaskier hesitated in his movements, dragging out his time, wanting to take in the whole of Geralt before focusing on his rump. Tglhe muscles of his back and shoulders were flexing as his arms crossed under his head, with his torso moving in each inhale of air. Then their were his legs, nice and thick like trees trunks, and muscular calves that were made to run over great distances. And of course his white, silvery hair that graced not jsut his head, but covered all the skin of his well muscled body.

Finally his mind focused on the arse before him, since he could no longer delay in the pleasurable duty of touching, and soothing the pain there.

Jaskier pushed against the hard muscle there, the first touch always brought a groan out from Geralt even as he tried with all his might to silence the noise. The beginning of his massage was very weak and minimal, the focus placed more on spreading the oil out over the full area of Geralt's arse instead of pressing into the muscles to release the tension that resided there. He started at the top of his arse where the swell of muscle met the small of his back, rubbing down with open palms to spread the oil out evenly. He moved with the direction of the peppering of silvery hairs, taking notice in how they clung to the skin after the oil coated them.

Geralt had his eyes closed, and wasrelaxing with the silence in the room disturbed only by the settling of the wood in the night.

Jaskier idly stoked over one of the scars on the pale flesh when he asked. "So what do you think of the town."

"Shut up and rub." 

Jaskier talking would do nothing more than sour his mood. These times together were necessarily something that made him happy, but he knew to be greatful to have them as he knew how uncomfortable life became in their absence. Granted these moments walked a fine line between tedium and calm. It was plainly obvious that Geralt failed to relax in the company of others, but the massage on his arse got him rather close to a feeling of relaxed.

There was an agrivating ironiny there. Geralt could hardly trust anyone, especial to do this for him, yet the person he did allow to do it, was a complete whore of a man, touching one of Geralt's msot intimate areas. 

"I simply ask for the sake of conversation." Jaskier was in no rush to complete his task, quite content to simply rub and work the muscles of the witcher's lovely bottom. He again traced over a large raised scar on his left side, curios as to how an injury managed to land there of all places.

"You've never needed conversation before." This was about the only time Jaskier would he silent, a thankful respite for Geralt from the bard's usual incessant speech. 

"Well what if I've grown bored from rubbing your bottom." That wasn't true, he would never tire of it. In all his many, many sexual escapades Jaskier had never seen an arse as distractingly delicious as the one he had in his hands.

"If you're bored you can focus better on rubbing my bottom." Geralt said in another attempt to end the conversation his vardbao desperately wanted to start. The man had a tongue that only got him into more trouble, and his unrelenting innuendo would not be appreciated in this context.

"I've had enough practice at this to know how to do it." Before another shot at dismissing his speach could he made Jaskier spoke again. "So what do you think of the fruit in town?"

To that odd of a question Geralt simply needed to respond, only half glancing over his shoulder, his loose hair mostly obscuring his vision. "The fruit? You honestly attempt to speak at a time like this and you have chosen the fruit as something to speak of. You, the minstrel who tells grand talls of you bedroom conquestion, and the slaying of beasts has been reduced to speaking of fruit. Were you any less annoying I would think you to be an imposter."

"No I'm afraid I'm the only one and true version of me. No imposter could match my charm, and since you are so curious as to my intention, a mother asked me as such. Appertly not all the parents want their young ones to hear the stories of disembolments and decapitation. Now, they ask for songs about your favoite foods, do they may get children to eat more than just scant seasoned meats."

Their position was shifted, with Jaskier placing the majority of his weight on his left leg so he could press both hands flatly against the side of the other's rump. His full weight was lounging into it before he felt the muscle give, it took so much focus that even if though he wanted to speak he couldn't. The process was repeated on his right side, and he almost felt winded from the action. All this practice and e exercise and he was nearly bested by Geralt's arse.

Geralt wasn't skeptical of the excuse he'd been given, he was fully dismissive of it. Nothing from Jaskier ever came off as plain or decent, there was always a double side to what he spoke of. Even still a noncommittal grunt was given as confirmation to start this interrogation. The sooner Geralt answered the questions the sooner he could return to his normally silent massage.

When Geralt didn't speak again Jaskier began, "Well, I'll start it then, as I'm inclined to do with all our conversations." He paused and pressed down again, while Geralt continued to remain silent. "I prefer peaches, nice and big juicy ones. They taste sweet and palatable to the tongue."

"Too sweet." Geralt spoke. "And too expensive for that matter. Only the warmer countries can make peaches, so any that even last all the way up here are marked up to ludacris prices." It slowly became harder to focus, but his job required him to have his wits about him even in such strenuous circumstances.

"Well, then what do you like. If peaches are so horrendous?"

Now, Jaskier had moved to the bottom of his rump, where the muscular swell fell over onto the tops of his thick thighs, he pushed up and got into the crease of the skin that existed there.

"I've never been one for fruits, but if we are to include vegetables then carrots, I suppose." He tried to hold still, resisting the dual desires of arching up into those eager hands, or grinding his cock into the mattress beneath him.

"Carrots?"

"Well yes. They are never in short supply, and they can be eaten raw with little preparation."

"You don't even cook your carrots?"

"No I do not. Carrots are not meant to be eaten soft, they are supposed to be taken when they are hard and uncut, and if they're cooked they loose their bitter, savory flavor. They've got a good after taste to them, and if I've got any left they can just be given to Roach." This talk of food was forming a hunger low in his belly even though they had eaten not two hours ago. 

"Those poor carrots spent their whole lives growning to be eaten by kings, and you toss them aside to be used as scraps for your horse."

"I've yet to hear the carrots complain as such. The only issue with carrots is finding the best ones. I need to find the largest ones available, so I can get the best flavor and nourishment from them."

"You are also a fool who believed food is better uncooked so I fail to see how you have any right to state an option on things." He was pressing blunt nails into the tops of Geralt's thighs, getting at any residual pain that seeped into the muscles there.

"You can hardly play your lute let alone cook, so how, ah, do you prepare your beloved peaches." The haze of arousal grew harder to ignore as he was forced to focus on speaking.

"With a little honey to make them shine, and possible coat them in sugar if there is any to spare. Even I am able to do that, Geralt."

"So you take a food that is too sweet and then proceed to only make it sweeter." It was not a question, rather it was a judgmental statement at Geralt's annoyance.

"Peaches are fine on their own, and they are so unbelievably tempting. Just when I buy a few of them I'm tempted to take one out and devour it on my way home right there in the open, but if you have time to work and prepare 'em they then become absolutely delectable." He pulled Gerald's cheeks apart to see how the thick camomile oil slowly dripped down the crease of his arse, down to his pink whole. It quivered at the first contact and twitched as it was engulfed by the scented substance.

"You speak as though eating a peach is an indecent act." Hoenstly he might believe it with how those hands touched him, his hopes that maybe he could be desensitized after long term exposure was dashed, and it left him more than a little aroused.

"Anything can be indecent if you know how to do it right."

"Ugh" Geralt muffled his groan in the pillow. Jaskier still spread his arse wide, exposing his whole, as the bard squeezed the mounds of muscle. "How so?" Now he wanted Jaskier to talk for if he was too busy droning on he may overlook how his actions were affecting Geralt.

"Well you must pick the correct product. If you choose a pink or dark yellow peach then it will be noticeably juicier than one of a greenish hue. And how you eat it is just as important, for is to be savored so it is best to enjoy nice slow bites of your food where you let you teeth sink into it as the juices flow into your mouth and down your chin." The words came out simultaneously as the oil that had collected between his cheeks dripped down onto his very nice, sizable, hairy balls.

"To think he calls me a whore when he allows another person to do these things to him." Jaskier thought.

His fingers moved inward in a slow circular motion, creeping towards the pink pucker nestled deeper down. He still massaged carefully and his movements were subtle, as his fingers drummed along the skin of Geralt's arse while he made the decent.

"But what is likely the most important step is where you choose to begin. I've found my faovite spot to plant my first bite is directly between the two bumps in the heart shape. After you pull the stem out you are able to take a nice deep bite without needing to worry about hitting the pit of it. Better still is how it creates a bowl of sorts for the excess juice to gather in. I like to bring it to my mouth and suck the sweet nectar directly from the source. It is a joy to feel it coat my tongue."

"So, uh, so you just do as you please then?" Focusing was harder since Jaskier's thumbs had settled on the sides of his whole rubbing indirect pleasure against the sensitive area.

"There is a difference between indecency and vulgarity, I know the line well and I walk it with ease."

"How so?"

"Sometimes I don't take what I want, rather i simply standby and watch what unfolds."

"I've never know you to he a man of personal restraint."

"I can show you how much my resolve I do have when I resist what I desire."

"Then prove what it is you have desired that you have not taken."

His thumbs pulled apart, spreading his hole jsut slightly open. It wasn't painful, only dreadfully shameful, and Geralt was happy to have his hair covering his face like a fine curtain. The pink hje that had formed there was hidden from his companion.

The weight of the bed shifted as Jaskier slid his legs farther down the bed so he was able to lean down, between the arse he had just been carefully massaging. Jaskier's stubble scraped against his flesh, but the slight burn was quickly trumped by the tongue prodding at his entrance. So far it made no move to enter, as Jaskier licked up the excess oil that his skin had yet to absorb. It was safe to eat, though Geralt doubted the taste was any good, how2ver that wasn't deterring the bard.

His slipping composure broke as the tongue actually breached him, and moved slightly, now engulfed in the heat of his body. The combination of the tongue inside him and the fingers outside him, presented him with a two fronts massage that was wrecking him.

"Yes!" The word was drawn out after Geralt failed to contain it. He had always wanted this but there had never been a time he could do such a thing.

The bard pulled his head back, not fully as the heat from his blushing face could still be felt, but the burn from the course hairs of his jaw rubbing against the relaxed skin was gone. "I take it than my work is satisfactory."

"Dont stop now." He was begging and commanding in one sentence, an oxymoron of the power distribution in the room, but Jaskier made no attempt to deny either Geralt or himself. He had been waiting to do this for much too long.

His mouth slipped back into place, but he moved his hands, to focus entirely on spreading Geralt's arse wide so he could plunge in deeper. He continued to knead the muscles there but only as an after thought to the work he was doing with his tongue.

Geralt was fisting the sheets by his head and bit down on his pillow, while he pushed himself back onto Jaskier's mouth, wanting that warm heat to ravenge him. The only time he didn't push up is when he tried to grind his prick into the mattress, feeling all the precum that had gathered there already edge him onward.

That skilled appendage that was violating him managed to hit his prostate, and it had him arching backwards, moaning towards the high ceiling, that let the sound echo around the room. Al the same time he had clenched his arse, and it squeezed Jaskier's head, forcing him to stay right there, deep in the witcher's hole, unable to move away.

The position required a great amount of effort and dexterity to maintain, so with his waining composure Geralt flopped down against the bed again, though Jaskier made no move to pull away from him.

Jaskier was absolutely deplorable in this situation. Even as he ate out his companion's arse he was fantasizing of all the different ways he wanted to do these things in the future.

Things would start off the same way they did tonight. Their regular massage, with all the sexual tension still rampant in the room, but instead of using his mouth Jaskier would use his cock. He'd fuck the famed witcher, Gerald of Rivia and pin him to the mattress. He would be force into place as Jaskier pounded into him from behind. No doubt that thick hair of his would wind up between his hands, being pulled and toughed as he chased his own pleasure. He'd fucled lords and ladies of all variations, but shagging a Witcher would be a crowing moment.

Or, he would roll Geralt over and fold the man in half, force him to hold up his own legs against his shoulders, and have him stare into the eyes of the best screwing him. That would allow him to tease Geralt's cock and also claim his mouth. The larger man would be completely enveloped by the bard.

Maybe he would straddle Geralt, and let his well endowed prick slide into the welcoming heat of his body, riding him slowly, bouncing up and down as he toyed with him self. He could prevent the witcher from getting off and then spend the night edging him over and over again. A begging mess of a man would be all that was left of him before he would finally give in and allow Geralt to have his own release.

He could even just lick at that weeping cock to his heart's content. Lave away until it was dripping with his saliva and Geralt's own precum. The head would surely be flushed a dark purple before he finally took the head between his lips, and swallowed the bitter load down his throat.

All these little dreams and Hope's could be indulged in later, currently he had a first encounter to finish, and that involves surveying how well he had done his job up to this point

He pulled his lips off with an obscenely loud squelch and he peered at that body beneath him. The glorious swell of his rump was tinged a bright pink, his handprints just barely vibily from where he had been clenching down as he did his work. Up from there was Geralt's, back now covered in his own perspiration. Then further still was his head angles slightly to the side, his hair finally out of the way.

It allowed him to watch chapped lips move as Geralt begged, "Please, please dotn stop."

The feeling he got from that nearly made him lightheaded. The power he held in that moment. The ability to withdraw and leave the room. Geralt reduced to a whining, begging mess who would no double feel uncomfortably empty at his absence, and just as he was about to reach an orgam too. Now, if he did try that Geralt was likely to follow him and possibly even kill him in a fit of rage, but that wasn't the point. His hand was being pushed towards a specific choice, but if he truly wanted to he had the ability to leave the beast of a man strung out on his bed. 

Of course he did no such thing. Jaskier leaned back down and resumed his prodding at that slick hole, still squeezing the massive lumps of muscle that were moist from the chamomile oil.

His jaw acked at the work he was putting into it, but the cries of pleasure that came from above his head were enough to goad him on.

Geralt was now changing out a cochophany of 'fucks' and 'pleases' that resoted through the room, and there were even a few commands to not stop. They engulfed the bard in his companions desperation. 

He felt it all coming to a head, the way his legs bent more, the curling of his toes. The absolutely frantic pace of rutting against the bed in small circles, and the way every muscles he came into contact with tensed up, taunt and ready to be relaxed.

"Fuck, Jaskier!" It was shouted so loud that the other patrons of the building had to have heard it. He continued his rutting into the sheets as cum sported from the slit of his prick, ruining the sheets, and Jaskier nuzzled into his place between his cheeks, touching his prostate with the tip of his tongue.

When it calmed down, and Geralt was splayed out in exhausting Jaskier finally did pull away completely, sitting up to seven his work. But, he became distracted as he eyed the hole he had spent far too long opening up. When his hand graced the bottled of chamomile oil that had been lost in the sheets, he decided that maybe tonight could also be the one in which he took those silvery locks into his giant as he pounded into the larger man.

He spread some more oil onto his fingers and pushed a digit into Geralt's entrance, earning an exhaust groan from him. 

This was destined to be a long night, and one of many firsts.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always happy to recieve comments about what you liked and what you didn't.


End file.
